Jack McKinnon lived on the side of a mountain in the forest in a natural earth-caring community of good people, and philosophised about humankind and consciousness and the nature of being as well as taught many disadvantaged children to read. He believed in walking lightly upon the earth. His funeral was held in the community hall and the coffin was then put in the back of a station wagon and driven up to a spot on the side of a hill where a small graveyard stands under an orchard of mango trees. Some of the community folk had already prepared the grave, and we all worked together to lower his coffin into it and cover it up with earth. My grandfather is apparently the last person to be buried there on the community land and he is much loved and greatly missed. I lived and worked and built with him for several years and spent hours at his side listening to stories and insights until I was drawn overseas by fate and chance.
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